


keep it on the low

by groundopenwide



Series: what would frat bro kyle do? [1]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American College AU, Frat Bro Kyle, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, brought to you by Kyle in tank tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: “I thought frat parties were beneath your hipster sensibilities,” Kyle says.
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Kyle Simmons
Series: what would frat bro kyle do? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149857
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	keep it on the low

**Author's Note:**

> life's tough right now, friends, i know. here's some incredibly niche pwp to distract you, at least for a little while.
> 
> this pointless fic was brought to you by social distancing and kyle looking hot in tank tops. stay healthy and be kind to one another ♥
> 
> title is from [this song.](https://open.spotify.com/album/1z0AsIstBLvPXeMAoWmEVL?si=sv92-LnNRr-KDkg1ze5kiA)
> 
> [my tumblr](http://goodlesson.tumblr.com)

Charlie hates frat parties. And frat houses. And literally everything pertaining to beefy guys in bro tanks who possess approximately one brain cell per forty housemates. 

But Ben has a girlfriend, and Ben’s never had a girlfriend in the six years Charlie’s known him, so when said girlfriend invites Ben along to this party at Pi Kappa Alpha and Ben literally begs Charlie to tag along (“in case she randomly dumps me in some nasty frat basement,” Ben says, as if this is a totally reasonable fear to have), Charlie can’t say no.

Now he’s got a cup of stale, lukewarm beer in his hand, his shoes keep sticking to some mysterious substance on the floor, and Kyle The Dick from his 8 AM History of Jazz class is over in the corner looking as hot and douchey as ever, with threaded bracelets halfway to his elbows and the sides of his tank top open all the way to his navel. 

‘Hot’ was Charlie’s initial gut reaction when an unfairly tall guy with a beard most college students could only dream of walked into class five minutes late on the first day of the semester. The ‘douchey’ descriptor came seconds after, when the guy saluted the professor, offered no excuse for his tardiness, and then proceeded to take the seat right next to Charlie despite there being an entire fucking row open behind him.

The professor went back to lecturing, but Charlie couldn’t focus, not with a literal beanstalk of a human being suddenly all up in his personal space. The guy tipped his backpack upside down over their table, its contents spilling everywhere. Charlie glared at the lone pencil that dared to roll and settle itself against the edge of his syllabus.

“Can you—” _not,_ Charlie wanted to say. 

Before he could finish, the guy seemed to remember that he was indeed sitting next to another living, breathing, person, because he scrambled to corral his belongings back to his side of the table.

“Shit, sorry bro,” he said. “First day. It’s crazy, you know?”

Charlie winced—visibly _winced—_ at being referred to as ‘bro.’ 

“Sure,” was all he said in response.

The guy rustled around for another solid minute, shuffling papers and books and protein bar wrappers until he presumably found the notebook he was looking for and flipped it open to a blank page. Charlie already had a headache from all of the fidgeting.

“I’m Kyle,” the guy said suddenly.

“Okay,” said Charlie.

The guy looked up from whatever he had begun to jot down in his notebook, waiting.

“...I’m Charlie,” Charlie said finally.

“Not very friendly, are you, Charlie,” the guy— _Kyle—_ said, going back to his notes.

Charlie decided then and there that Kyle was a dick. 

“I’m trying to pay attention,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” Kyle said, not sounding very sorry at all.

For some completely inexplicable reason—most likely to prod Charlie towards a premature death—Kyle chose to again occupy the seat next to Charlie on Wednesday, and Friday, and the Monday after that, on and on until Charlie had become accustomed to wanting to scream his lungs out every morning at approximately 8:06 AM (because Kyle was always, without a doubt, late). It was torturous. Having to listen to Kyle slurp on his bottles of Muscle Milk, having to smell the lingering traces of shitty beer on him every Friday when he rolled into class clearly hungover, having to stare at the gleaming rings on his fingers and the wiry muscles of his frequently exposed biceps and the tuft of chest hair visible above the overstretched collar of his faded Pike tee—

(Okay, yeah, so Kyle was a dick, but he was still undeniably attractive. Sue Charlie for noticing.)

Charlie takes a sip from his cup and tries not to cringe. He’s sweaty as hell in his collared shirt, the Drake song blaring from the shitty speakers in the corner is making his head pound, and Ben and his girlfriend have fucked off to who-knows-where, probably so she can give him a handie in some dark corner. Overall, Charlie is definitely Not Having a Good Time.

Of course, that’s when Kyle decides to notice him looking all lonely and pissed off in the middle of the otherwise raging party. They make eye contact across the room, and Kyle’s in front of Charlie in a blink, before he can even pretend to be talking to someone else (or, better yet, Getting the Fuck Out of Here).

“Charlo Barno!” Kyle yells. 

He lifts his arms over his head in greeting, some of his beer sloshing over the rim of his cup as he wields it like a torch. His pupils are huge and his hair is limp and greasy, a few strands matted down to the faint sheen of sweat that glistens on his forehead. He’s a drunken disaster. Charlie honestly can’t believe his own brain is actively thinking about licking up the sweat droplets at Kyle’s temple. Fucking traitor.

“I thought frat parties were beneath your hipster sensibilities,” Kyle says.

Charlie chugs the rest of his own cup in one go, even though it tastes like literal piss, because fuck it. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving.”

“Aw, don’t go,” Kyle protests. “We were just about to start up a round of beer pong.”

“Do you actually think I have any interest in playing beer pong with you?”

“You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” Kyle says, without missing a beat.

Charlie nearly chokes on his own spit. 

“Uh,” he says eloquently.

“Come on, one round,” Kyle pleads. He throws a sloppy arm around Charlie’s shoulders and drags him in, his skin boiling hot through the fabric of Charlie’s shirt. “I bet your friend’ll be done sucking face with his girlfriend by the time it’s over.”

So Kyle had noticed him. Them. He’d seen Charlie walk in with Ben and his girlfriend, and he’s been keeping tabs on Charlie ever since. That’s...well. That’s interesting.

Charlie can’t believe his own voice when it comes out of his mouth. “Fuck. Fine. Just don’t call me ‘bro.’”

Kyle fistpumps the air in victory with the arm not currently keeping Charlie locked against his side. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, bro,” he says, grinning, and Charlie would punch him in his stupid fucking face if he didn’t also sort of want to kiss him there, too.

They’re god awful at beer pong. Kyle’s already too drunk to have any kind of coordination whatsoever, and, well—there’s a reason Charlie took up guitar instead of sports when he was a kid. By the end of it, there’s a huge wet patch on the front of his shirt from when Kyle thought it’d be funny to tip up the bottom of his cup as he was drinking, and Charlie’s feeling a little floaty and a lot stumbly as he and Kyle crack up over...something. He can’t remember what, but he knows it must have been pretty fucking funny, because there are tears leaking from his eyes and Kyle keeps making these little snorting noises as he laughs and clings to Charlie’s shoulder to keep himself upright.

“You aren’t as boring as I thought you were,” Kyle randomly announces.

“Thanks. You’re still annoying as fuck,” Charlie tells him.

“Hey!”

“Like, do you even—” Kyle’s hand is still on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie leans—well, more like sways—into it and lets out a little hiccup. “Do you even like jazz? You never—you don’t pay attention. In class. Like, ever.”

“I take it back. You are boring. And—and pretentious,” Kyle huffs, but doesn’t move his hand. “I do pay attention! I’m just—I have a hard time focusing, okay.”

“I know. It’s fucking distracting. You’re distracting. With all of your moving. And your—face.”

Kyle blinks. “My face?”

“Your face. It’s—too nice,” Charlie says, reaching up to pat his cheek for good measure. Kyle’s beard is prickly beneath his fingers. Charlie wonders what it would feel like against his thighs.

“My face is too nice,” Kyle repeats slowly, like he can’t quite comprehend the words. 

That’s when Charlie realizes that his hand is still on Kyle’s face. It’s just sort of...resting there, his nails scratching gently at Kyle’s beard. And Kyle’s somehow managed to close all of the distance between them using his grip on Charlie’s shoulder. His eyes are dark, so dark, and his collarbone is right there at eye level, practically begging Charlie to put his mouth against it.

“Want to come smoke with me?” Kyle asks.

“Okay,” Charlie says.

Kyle’s room smells like weed and Axe body spray. There are empty beer cans and dirty clothes all over the floor, and, to Charlie’s drunken surprise, a keyboard propped against the wall in the corner. He doesn’t have the time or cognizance to really process _that_ discovery, though, because as soon as the door closes, Kyle is licking the taste of crappy beer from his mouth and dragging him across the room to the tiny twin bed that can’t possibly be long enough for his gargantuan limbs.

They land on the mattress in a tangled heap. Kyle ends up on top, and god, he’s so fucking _tall_ , his body nearly dwarfing Charlie’s in comparison. Charlie yanks him down for another kiss. It’s so good, Kyle’s beard scraping his chin and rings bumping against his scalp as he pulls at Charlie’s hair.

Charlie’s making out with Kyle The Dick. Talk about fucking surreal.

“Still—can’t—stand you,” Charlie gasps out as Kyle rucks his shirt up so he can get at the button on his jeans.

“But you like my face,” Kyle says with a little grin, and then his hand is on Charlie’s dick.

Kyle gets him off fast and dirty. He doesn’t even bother pulling down Charlie’s jeans all the way. His rings are still on his fingers, and they’re fucking freezing against Charlie’s skin, but Charlie’s too drunk and worked up to care. Kyle jerks him off at a ruthless pace, and when he leans down to kiss Charlie again, Charlie opens up eagerly. He comes like that, with Kyle’s hand on him and tongue in his mouth, and when it’s over, Charlie’s brain is spinning around like the Gravitron ride at the county fair.

“Not so bitchy now, huh?” Kyle says, smug, as he wipes his hand off on the sheets.

“Fuck off,” Charlie tells him, still trying to catch his breath. “Are you gonna let me suck your dick or what?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Kyle rolls off of him and onto his back, and Charlie follows him over, sliding down the length of the mattress until he’s faced with Kyle’s crotch. He wastes no time in pulling Kyle’s shorts and boxers down his thighs. His dick is long and lean, just like the rest of him. When Charlie wraps his lips around it, Kyle’s whole body jolts in pleasant surprise.

Charlie’s never given a drunken blowjob to someone he supposedly hates before, but he must be alright at it, if the obscene sounds Kyle’s making are any indication. When Kyle finally comes, Charlie’s eyes are watering and his mouth is sore under the strain of being open for so long. He swallows through it until Kyle has gone soft in his mouth, then slides off and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Well,” Kyle says. He draws the word out, turning it syrupy smooth in his mouth, as he folds his arms behind his head and smiles at Charlie from where he’s sprawled against the pillows. “That was an interesting development.”

Charlie sits up and slings his legs over the side of the bed. His clothes are a fucking mess, but he does his best to straighten them, buttoning up his pants and smoothing down the front of his beer-stained shirt. He isn’t thinking about Kyle’s wet mouth or deft hands, okay? He definitely isn’t.

“Right. So I’ll—see you in class,” he says.

“You know,” Kyle starts. He runs a hand through his hair, and Charlie nearly chokes at the glimpse of armpit hair that’s offered to him when Kyle lifts his arm. “I could—use a little extra help with assignments and stuff, if you wanted to, like—tutor me or something?”

Charlie’s heart rate kicks up ten notches. “Tutor you?”

“Yeah. We could meet up tomorrow. If you’re free.”

Charlie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. If Kyle’s proposing what Charlie _thinks_ he’s proposing—

“I’m free. Very free.”

One corner of Kyle’s mouth turns up into a half-smile.

“Awesome. Thanks, bro.”

“Not your bro,” Charlie says immediately.

“The lady doth protest too much, I think,” Kyle says.

Still a dick, then. Good to know.


End file.
